Hot. The type of heat that promises thunderstorms but doesn't deliver.
We saunter down the hill towards the stream . By six thirty we're sauntering back up the hill towards The Rickety Old Farmhouse. To be more precise Angus saunters, the PONs race ahead. Sophie finds and devours hideous things in the hedgerows. Her tail wags with the force of a flag in a force ten gale. What in heavens name led us to believe that a female dog might be more genteel ?
At the greengrocers red and white striped tomatoes. The photo doesn't do them justice.
By eight in the morning the shutters are closed, the garden watered ( the well has run dry today ) and the PONs firmly ensconced indoors. From time to time Bob wanders to the front door and sticks his nose out to make sure there are no sheep causing mayhem in the orchard.
I forgot to mention that on our morning walk we nearly had a 'diva' moment. Brunhilda, the German billionaires dog, is here. She's wandered down from the chateau to the village below. We meet her by the war memorial. Bob is greatly taken with Brunhilda. He has great ideas for Polish-German reconciliation. Sophie doesn't.
Brunhilda keeps a sensible distance as Sophie, enraged at the appearance of this interlope,r is encouraged along the road. There can be no doubting that Sophie believes this to be 'her' village.
The evening football match was a chaotic medley of rising smoke from the fire under Wallys paella dish, feral three year olds, rampant Jack Russells, and frequent renditions of the Marseillaise by overly emotional French farmers. France lose to Portugal 1-0. The post match postmortem finishes at midnight.
13 comments:
I can see why Bob would be taken with Brunhilda; she is a gorgeous girl.
Of course not as much as Sophie.
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Do the tomatoes taste like "tomatoes" or like polystyrene? The store-bought tomatoes down here are a waste of space in the shopping basket.
I knew France lost when the complete and utter silence of the evening was broken by the sound of cars going by, many of them. None honked. Hence, a loss.
Your thunderstorms landed just to the east. We got a soaking this morning. Now the sun is back, and we are going to steam.
Bob is clearly for European solidarity. Might Sophie have voted Brexit?
I agree about the genteel female dog, this one here may be called Princess but certainly doesn't act like one!
Brunhilda looks like she needs a friend. Bob?
No, Bob, you take a leaf out of Sophie's book and leave Brunhilda firmly alone. She must be up to no good if she's wandering about on her own - a lady is always accompanied!
Oh dear, no late night celebrations at the Salle des Fêtes, and no riotous parties until dawn. You had no need to keep the champagne on ice, Angus.
We seem to feel the females should be more well-mannered, but our Millie lives her life unhampered by self-restraint. It was Rory, our male border collie, who was the gentleman.
The well has run dry?
Sounds like a walk with our Monty! Never a dull moment!
Monty, Harlow and Ramble
Commiserations to France. Dui is our home guard. He thinks everywhere is his and challenges all comers.
So far, our yellow lab puppy Beau (7 months now!) has remained a gentleman as well. (You were kind enough to comment about Beau a month ago.)
Totally agreed. :=)
With a name like Beau, he must be a perfect little gentleman! Isn't it wonderful what individual personalities dogs have?
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